


Fourteen Apple Strudels and One (1) Draco Malfoy

by asmolpotato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista!Harry, Barista!Ron, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-20 09:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmolpotato/pseuds/asmolpotato
Summary: Malfoy isn't up to something, and it bothers Harry more than it should.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Facts_ **

**_Note: Names are withheld as per initial privacy agreement._ **

**_Persons A and B have been under the employment of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for three years, the latter two of which they have been active partners as part of the Trainees-to-Aurors Ministry program. On Friday the third of December, Person B was hit by a spell identified as_ ** **Levicorpus,** **_a class-C forbidden curse. Person A has been identified as the perpetrator. As a direct result of the status of the curse in question, this situation is under review._ **

**_Issues_ **

  1. **_Is the use of the curse-_**



_ THUMP. _

He inhales slowly and loudly, then returns to reading his brief.

**_Issues_ **

  1. **_Is the use of the curse_** **Levicorpus** ** _punishable by law?_**
  2. **_Should Person A be puni-_**



_ THUMP. _

Draco scowls at the adjoining wall, beginning to reread the section yet again.

**_Issues_ **

  1. **_Is the use of the curse_** **Levicorpus** ** _punishable by law?_**
  2. **_Should Person A be punished for their actions?_**
  3. **_Was there-_**



_ THUMP. _

"Merlin give me patience." Draco wonders what exactly he has done to incur the wrath of the wall, or rather, the incorrigible behaviour of the tenant behind it.

_ THUMP. _

Losing all semblance of calm, he bangs twice on the offending wall, his reading glasses slipping askew.

_ THUMP THUMP,  _ the wall replies.

"OH, JUST SHUT UP, YOU UNCULTURED PHILISTINE, SHUT UP!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco dimly registers that this marked the third time he has yelled at a wall today.

Not that he makes a habit out of yelling at walls...just this one in particular.

_ THUMP THUMP THUMP. _

He stands up rather abruptly, setting his chair spinning, tossing his glasses onto his desk beside the half-read case brief. He has suffered through two weeks,  _ two weeks  _ of wall-based torture, and since staring intensely at the barrier and conveying angry thoughts hasn't seemed to be very effective, Draco decides that he might as well go yell at the source of the  _ thump _ ing in person. 

* * *

Harry arranges his elbows on the counter, attempting a casual lean. After all, Fit Blonde will be passing by soon on his way to lunch, and if he just  _ happens  _ to see A Very Good-Looking Barista through the window, then maybe he'll come in for a drink, and maybe they'll talk, and maybe...

"Oh no, not again. Harry, mate, you have to stop reading them."

Harry throws Ron a cross look. "Shut up, I know you do too." For the past few weeks, someone has been leaving romance novels on one of the tables. Of course, it'd be a crime to let good literature go to waste, so Harry's been collecting them in stacks under the coffee cabinet. Besides, he's willing to bet money that Ron has at least one hidden away in that messenger bag of his.

"Yes, but it's different. I have a girlfriend." Ron slides a mug across the counter to a wizard in a plaid nightgown. He shoots Harry a look of consternation. "It's been, what, three months since Ginny?"

"You have it easy," Harry says, shaking the coffee machine in a vain attempt at resurrection. "You and 'Mione just...fell together. You have a backstory and everything."

"Just saying, if you keep up with this moping, you'll die alone."

"I'll have you know that I'm in a very respectable one-sided relationship with," Harry looks down at the cover of the newest novel, "'The Warlock's Rogue'".

"But does the book know you keep ogling that lawyer bloke?" Ron raises both eyebrows, giving Harry a significant look.

"What, Fit Blonde?" Harry starts shaking the coffee machine, surreptitiously tucking the book back under the counter.

"Wait, you have a nickname for him? You never told me it progressed  _ that _ far."

Harry flicks his wand at the machine, causing it to rattle sharply. He slides over to the cash register, separating the stray sickles from the muggle money.

"Excuse me," the person behind the counter says, "I'd like a word."

Harry looks up from the neat stacks of sickles and nearly shuts his fingers in the cash register drawer. There, in all his pointy glory, stands Draco Malfoy, looking almost comically out of place in the warm light of the coffee shop.

Even worse, he's still blonde. Blonde with a leather briefcase, Harry realizes, the dread settling deep at the bottom of his stomach.

And of course, at the very minute Harry's having a minor existential crisis, Ron decides to swoop by, a bag of coffee beans over his shoulder, sniggering and whispering "Fit Blonde".

"Hullo," Harry says uncertainly. He hasn't seen Malfoy in all of three years, and a very pleasant three years it has been. How exactly is one supposed to act towards a former Death-Eater-slash-nemesis whose mother saved one's life? Harry had testified at the trials, of course, but that had been more out of a sense of moral obligation than anything else.

"Hullo to you too," Malfoy's manner is stiff, his posture painfully formal. "Some cretin has been pounding incessantly on my office wall."

Ah. So there's the classic Malfoy.

"Cast a silencing charm, then."

"I have no inclination to go out of my way to accommodate you. Do tell, whatever have you been doing?"

"Well," Harry shifts his weight uncomfortably, "the coffee machine doesn't work from time to time, and it's kind of a ritual now to..."

"To what? Start humping it every time the coffee isn't satisfactory?"

Harry chokes on his own tongue.

"Sorry mate, we'll make sure he humps you instead," Ron says, and Harry thinks he's having some sort of Malfoy-induced hallucination.  _ Wonderful,  _ now certain  _ images _ are springing unbidden into his mind and he wants to melt into the floor. It's occurrences like this that make Harry question his friendships, and he vows to steal Ron's stash of romance novellas at the earliest possible opportunity. The bastard doesn't deserve love.

Harry tries to hide his face behind the cash register but he thinks he shouldn't even bother - he's probably already neared the reddish tone of the wall behind him. Malfoy's left eyebrow has almost disappeared into his hairline and Harry starts debating the pros and cons of double-homicide, but then Ron takes pity on him and passes the bag of coffee beans, taking over at the register.

Harry grabs the bag like a lifeline, clutching it close to his chest and turning away from Malfoy. He pauses at the doorway of the back room. He really wants to hear the rest of the interaction, but he's simultaneously overwhelmed by the urge to crawl under a chair in a dark room, and he allows himself one dramatic sigh for his troubling internal conflicts.

Malfoy and Ron are now having a civil discussion, Merlin knows how, and Harry can't exactly make out the words but there's  _ laughter.  _ Of course, when  _ Ron  _ talks to Malfoy they can carry a conversation, but when  _ Harry  _ tries his hand at civility, the blood vessels in his face conspire to provide him with the same complexion as a brick.

Ron mentions his name, and Harry resolves to shove the whole bag of coffee beans down the other man's shirt at the soonest convenience. He drops the beans in the back room but when he returns, Malfoy's leaving. The blonde gives Harry an unreadable look, then pulls the door open to leave,  _ waving to Ron _ before walking out.

Ron gives Harry a slap on the back, then turns to the coffee machine as if nothing's happened.

Harry lets out a garbled mix of confusion and curse words, and he's convinced his brain's short-circuited because  _ how  _ in the name of Merlin's balls has Ron managed to befriend Malfoy? He can't help but feel a stir of resentment.

"I'm wingmanning you," Ron shrugs as if it's obvious, and Harry's suddenly a lot more worried. Neither of them have the best track record with any situation relating to relationships. He starts to wonder what Ron had said to Malfoy, then he quickly thinks the better of it. That way lies madness.


	2. Chapter 2

After ten minutes of nearly turning the cafe upside-down, Harry has to admit defeat. He can't find Ron's romance novel stash, and the whole situation has dramatically worsened; his own collection has disappeared. Harry hears Hermione's voice and emerges from between the couch cushions.

"I told her not to-"

"-she called her a know-it-all bitch!" Pansy's voice rises, cutting across Hermione, and Ginny snorts.

"Oh please, I can fight my own battles," Hermione says, smiling despite herself.

Harry wades his way through the assortment of mismatched sofas and back behind the counter.

"Harry," Hermione settles herself onto the barstool nearest to him, "tell Pansy I don't need defending."

Ginny and Pansy take the other two seats, the former looking more than annoyed.

"Tell these two to shut up. They've been yelling at me about each other the whole ride back from the Ministry, so I brought them here to drug them with coffee." Ginny starts pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, holding her wand between her teeth, undeterred by Pansy's unabashed staring.

"Auror training teams just get a little competitive sometimes," Hermione shrugs, digging through Pansy's bag while the others are distracted, "Tensions got high and Lavender called me a few names. But then Pansy-"

"-I just used Levicorpus, it's not like I cut out her internal organs-"

"- cast an illegal jinx-"

Ginny flicks her wand, tightening her rubberband. The other two fall silent.

"So they had to file a report for HR. Hermione's worried about getting in trouble because she taught us a shit tonne of illegal curses and Pansy used one of them, and now Pansy hates Lavender Brown," she explains, hooking her ankles around the second rung of her chair.

"Then why do you look so mad?" Harry slides Hermione's usual order of pastries across the counter, giving Ginny a questioning look.

"Because I wasn't there!" Ginny explodes. "I've _dreamt_ of jinxing Brown since she and Ron had that _thing_ in sixth year. You have no idea how hard that was for Hermione-"

"-It's fine, Ron and I are together now-"

"-She's a horrible person!"

Pansy shrugs noncommittally. "Now probably isn't the best time to mention it, but Lavender and I dated on-and-off seventh year." She pulls the pastry from Ginny's limp fingers. “The Ministry’s spell classification’s stupid anyway. Lavender _diffindo_ -ed my arm yesterday and Robards didn’t even blink.”

“I told you my system was better! Maybe later I’ll write a petition for the Wizengamot, because honestly, it isn’t very smart to stick to the old methods three years after the war,” Hermione turns to Ginny, “Could I get you to test some practice curses sometime?”

Just then, Ron walks in, waving cheerfully and holding the door for none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Draco, come sit," Pansy says, patting the stool beside her, and Harry finds himself face-to-face with Malfoy yet again. Malfoy plucks the pastry from Pansy before she can take a bite, and Harry wonders vaguely why they didn't all order their own.

"Hi," Ron wraps his arms around Hermione from behind, planting a kiss at the top of her head. She looks up and smiles.

"I bought you a pastry. Draco has it."

They all look at Malfoy, pastry poised between napkin and lips, and he shoves the whole thing into his mouth, casually wiping his fingers on a handkerchief.

Harry lets out a small laugh. Hermione asks Ron about something and Pansy replies, but Harry feels as if he's underwater, his hearing distorted, because Malfoy meets his eyes, his expression unreadable. Harry looks away before he physically combusts, walking over to the register to ring up everyone's orders. Malfoy makes as if to turn away but Harry looks at him expectantly.

"Want anything?"

"I'll have another one of whatever I stole from Pansy," Malfoy says, gesturing with one hand. Harry pulls open the back door of the display cabinet to reach the pastry and he thinks that he's reached peak confusion. Draco Malfoy is currently inhabiting space in his coffee shop. The same Draco Malfoy that Harry has spent the last month obsessing over.

The same Draco Malfoy who's watching Harry while he struggles to maneuver his head out of the display box. Harry has to make an effort to form coherent sentences - after all this time, he's not going to let Malfoy make a fool out of him.

"Thirsty?"

Apparently he hasn't quite reached full coherency, because creepy-porn-commercial had _definitely_ not been what Harry had been going for. For his credit, Malfoy looks rather unphased, aside from the two spots of pink blooming high on his cheeks.

"Not particularly, no," Malfoy’s lips twitch, sliding a few sickles across the counter. Harry has to say something, he has to say _something,_ before it gets all quiet and _awkward_ , and he can't exactly get outside help to carry the conversation because the other four are already busy with something else. That leaves just him.

Him... and Malfoy. Things have improved slightly, Harry thinks desperately. Now he can meet Malfoy’s gaze without risking immediate implosion.

"So what brings you here to my lovely establishment?" Harry waves an arm expansively, hitting his hand on the coffee machine behind him, and a small smile tugs at the corners of Malfoy's mouth.

"Oh, I've been working on this case that was delivered yesterday. Terribly boring stuff, someone Levicorpused another trainee. I really wanted a coffee about ten minutes ago, but it’s funny how easily you've ruined my appetite."

"Oi," Harry says, trying to regather the shredded scraps of his dignity, "I wasn't _trying_ to hit on you..."

"Now I’m rather certain you accidentally come onto people quite often."

"Malfoy, I'll have you know that I'm very good at flirting when I want to be." It's almost a relief to get back to their old banter. Something's shifted, though, this time it isn't as harsh, more...playful? Harry has no idea what he's doing, but curses aren't flying yet, so he can't be failing too badly. He's regained minimal control over the situation.

"You know, there may be some truth to that. Didn't Cedric Diggory ask you to take a bath with him in our fourth year?"

Harry's lost all control over the situation.

"Wha-no!" he splutters, covering his face with his hands, and Malfoy laughs again, that stupid laugh that makes Harry's internal organs palpitate.

"No! He did not!" Harry tries again, reddening rapidly, "He told me to go take a shower with that golden egg, that was all."

"I still think he's your type." 

"What, three years older and dating the girl I fancied?"

"I've figured it out! You have a thing for seekers!" Malfoy’s smugness is soon nearing the levels of the second year slug-belching incident.

Harry groans and puts his head down on the table.

Ginny breaks away from her conversation and looks over thoughtfully. "Actually, Malfoy, you just might be right."

"Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory-"

"-I did _not_ have a _thing_ for Diggory-"

"You, of course," Malfoy says, waving a hand at Ginny, and they both pause for a minute.

"Wait no-" Malfoy tries to backtrack, looking at Harry panickedly, but then Ginny gasps, glancing from Harry to Malfoy.

Ron looks up, then lets out a heavy sigh. 

Hermione wears a satisfied smile as Ron dumps a handful of sickles into her lap, and Harry watches with the same perverse detachment of one viewing a trainwreck.

 

* * *

 

"So. Malfoy." Ron fixes Harry with a penetrating stare.

"I blame the stupid coffee machine," Harry sighs, wishing whole-heartedly that he had just cast a good _reparo._ As far as he's concerned, his feelings for Malfoy were kindled entirely by the bean-grinding monstrosity. If it had just _worked_ like a _normal_ coffee machine, Malfoy wouldn't have had to come in, all aristocratic cheekbones and-

"Wait, if you've somehow managed to start fancying _Malfoy_ , then did you ever think of me that way?"

"No!" Harry yelps, as if scalded by hot water, because even though he's never felt a shred of attraction to Ron, it's never too late to conjure up disturbing mental images. "You're my best mate, that's not how this works."

They're closing down the cafe, turning off the lights and shuttering the windows, and Harry thinks he’s escaped this conversation for good.

"Am I just too substandard?" Ron looks more than a little hurt.

This is definitely not the reply he expects, and it takes Harry a moment for his mind to wrap around Ron's question.

"It can't be that I'm not attractive to you," Ron muses, "You dated Ginny. Is my stunning personality too much?"

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times, then decides that if he just ignores the conversation, it'll just go away. The cold night air hits his face as he pushes open the door, and he sees Hermione outside.

"Harry, we'll miss our reservations if you don't hurry," she pulls her cloak tightly around her, three self-knitted scarves wrapped around her neck, "Ron isn't cooking tonight so we'll have to eat out."

Ron emerges from the doorway and throws himself dramatically into Hermione's arms. "Tell me I'm beautiful," he mock-swoons, and Hermione looks torn between giving him a hug and dropping her ridiculous boyfriend on the pavement.

"Apparently Harry doesn't think I'm worthy of dating him. I could have been madly pining for years, you know." Ron throws him another injured look and Harry regrets letting the conversation fester. "Maybe one day Harry and I'll just elope, preferably to a Chudley Cannons game-" Harry lets out a low groan. He had thought Ron's obsession had peaked at Hogwarts, but apparently it was too much to hope for. Ever since Mrs. Weasley - still possessing all of her sanity - had refused him multiple times, Ron had promised to learn knitting from Hermione just so he could knit Chudley Cannon jumpers for everyone he knew.

Hermione removes one of her scarves and wraps it around Ron, shrugging unconcernedly.

"If you and Harry become an item, I suppose I'll just run away with Pansy. We don't need you two, Ginny can be our best man."

"No thanks," Harry says, holding Ron at arm's length. "Also, are you and Malfoy _friends_ now?"

"Draco's really very nice, you lot should talk to him sometime," Hermione says, linking arms with him and Ron. In a few seconds, Harry's enveloped in the uncomfortably familiar sensation of side-along apparition. He lets his thoughts wander, and somewhere in the recesses of his cursed mind floats the disconcerting image of Ron in Chudley Cannon lingerie.

* * *

 

“Potter, what have you done?”

“I’m making a table,” Harry waves around a piece of wood, nearly missing Pansy’s head. “It’s one of those put-together-yourself ones.”

The longer he works on the table, the more horrified he becomes. He doesn’t know how, but apparently he’d started nailing the table legs in sideways some time after his third coffee.

“Just use magic,” Malfoy gives Harry a strange look, and he suddenly feels quite stupid.

“Right.” He flicks his wand at his leggy wooden creation. 

The wooden slats seem to gain sentience, sliding out of the structure Harry’s spent the last half hour constructing. He watches with a mix of fear and fascination; the wooden pieces have started to toddle around, the larger boards flopping about on the floor. He brandishes his wand again, feeling absurdly powerful.

The blocks promptly arrange themselves into a cylindrical shape, forming two - oh. 

“Very funny,” he tells the planks. Harry turns to Malfoy. “Now I have a giant wooden dick in the middle of my coffee shop.”

“Lovely table, darling,” Pansy says, as if speaking to a small child, “But perhaps it should be more...table-esque.”

Harry scowls.

Ginny and Hermione are hunched over the second table, twin to the one Harry’s been working on. 

While Harry’s been waging a one-sided war against a collection of two-by-fours, they’ve finished building the table and started working on their Ministry spell-classification petition.

“Who would’ve thought. The Chosen One, so woefully unable to-”

“Shut up,” Harry grabs Malfoy by the wrist, tugging him downward. “Now you have to help too.” He gives Malfoy a lopsided smile even though his thought process isn’t exactly linear anymore - _his_ hand? The hand attached to the end of his arm? Holding _Draco Malfoy_? - but now really isn’t a good time, after all, internal panic isn’t very discreet. He thinks he sees a flicker of surprise across Malfoy’s face, and Harry feels a rush of satisfaction. 

They sit on the carpet, and Malfoy picks up the manual. 

In front of them, the wooden pieces rearrange themselves, the rather crude monument to penis-kind transforming into a vaseful of roses.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are they all going?" Pansy looks around, bewildered, and Harry hides under the counter, hoping to Merlin that Ron won't say anything.

"At this point I lose a book a day! I even make sure that they're all in my bag before I leave, but they're still going missing." Pansy sounds more confused than angry, and Ron leans over the table to talk to her, his legs blocking Harry from view.

"I don't know, Parkinson, who would even waste their time stealing someone else's romance novels? They come quite cheap anyway."

Harry gives Ron a sharp kick to the shins and the other man tries to disguise his ill-timed grunt of pain with a loud cough. He feels no remorse.

"Yeah, I haven't seen them. I'll tell you if I find any around here though." The lying git. Every day, without fail, at least one novella lies on a coffee table at the end of the day, and every day, without fail, Ron swoops in and stashes them away. Of course, this only bothers Harry because Ron's started hoarding too effectively.

"Hullo," Harry hears Malfoy's voice, and Ron's legs move a few feet over, presumably so he can take Malfoy’s order. Ron whispers something indistinguishable to Malfoy and Harry panics. He's suddenly hit by the memory of Ron shrugging carelessly, saying that he's just 'wingmanning'.

"Hullo," Harry pops out from under the counter, smiling brightly, "How's your day so far?" He keeps the grin on his face, giving Ron a pointed look without turning his head.

"It was fine until you made your appearance," Malfoy says, looking at the counter apprehensively as if waiting for more people to jump out suddenly with great violence.

"Be nice or I won't sell you food," Harry says severely, turning to Pansy. "How’s the spellwork going?"

"I’ve drawn out a basic system," Pansy says, "But I get the feeling that Hermione’s going to tear it apart in the politest way she can."

Harry laughs, passing Malfoy his pastry.

Malfoy stops, frowning at the tip jar, over which Harry had placed a paper cutout of Severus Snape.

"Oh good Merlin."

"I know it isn’t the best tribute, but ideally I’d have three children and name my favorite after him. Haven't quite gotten to that stage yet, though."

* * *

The cafe's full, lively chatter floating overhead, the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the oven, and Harry can't help but smile when he sees a familiar blonde head.

"There you are," Harry says, sliding Malfoy's pastry into a wax paper bag. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Scouting the opposition," Malfoy sighs. "Unfortunately, you seem to have the best strudels within a thirty-mile radius."

"Malfoy," Harry gasps in mock horror, "You went to somebody else's coffee shop?"

"Sorry dear, you never said we had to be mutually exclusive," Malfoy shakes his head sadly, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Do what you must, but I know you'll always come back to me."

"You know me too well," Malfoy mock-swoons, taking the pastry and waving goodbye, leaving Harry with a line of slightly irate customers and a strange sense of fondness.

* * *

Strictly speaking, Ginny really shouldn’t be sitting on Harry’s side of the counter.

She, Pansy, and Hermione have just come back from Auror training, and there isn’t much table space anywhere due to the afternoon crowd, so the three of them have jointly decided to perch themselves on assorted kitchen implements inside Harry’s workspace. The arrangement is all well and good, but the way Pansy’s eyeing up Ginny stirs some strange overprotective emotions in Harry, both for Ginny and for his just-cleaned metal counters. 

Ron’s in the back room, either baking or hiding, possibly doing both at once, leaving Harry to fend with the stream of customers. 

“Hullo.” Malfoy’s at the front of the line and Harry feels a rush of unidentified feelings that he’d rather not sort through. Malfoy looks at Ginny and Hermione, shooting Pansy a questioning look. “Oh,” he says, his features somehow conveying both confusion and mild concern, ”The furniture sitting - is this some sort of new theme?” 

“No,” Harry says with more than a little desperation - if Malfoy attempts to squeeze into the narrow aisle behind the counter Harry thinks he may implode. “So, same as usual?”

“No,” Pink splotches appear on Malfoy’s cheeks, “I didn’t exactly want anything.” He suddenly appears to be very fascinated by a pigeon on the sidewalk outside the cafe. 

Harry wonders why Malfoy had spent the past ten minutes in the line leading up to the counter. He opens his mouth to ask but Ron emerges from the back room, patches of flour on his sweater.

“I’m back,” he waves cheerily, and Harry wordlessly shoves him towards the register. 

Malfoy’s still examining the pigeon, and since Harry doesn’t know what else to do, he pushes open the swing door. 

“Pansy’s _your_ friend, so please explain,” he whispers to Malfoy, hoping to Merlin that Pansy can’t hear, “Has she always been like that for Ginny?”

“Ever since my thirteenth birthday,” Malfoy smirks, taking Harry’s swing door invitation and walking in. He looks around, evidently coming short in terms of acceptable sitting locations. They walk to the back room instead, and Harry sees the giant wooden vase in the corner, momentarily panicking before Vanishing the offending sculpture. 

"So when's your birthday again?" Harry tries to twirl his wand nonchalantly between his fingers, hastily dropping it when sparks shoot out the end.

"June 5th," Malfoy yelps, ducking away, "Quit it Potter, I don't cut quite as dashing a figure without eyebrows."

"Don't you want to know when mine is?" Harry can't help but feel a little hurt. Of course, if Malfoy doesn't want to know his birthday, that’s alright too, and his question came out a little (a lot) more needy than he wanted it too, but is he even supposed to get Malfoy a -

"Oh, I've known since first year," Malfoy shrugs a little too casually. “July 31st, the day our Savior was born. I also may or may not have had fancied you a little," he says, looking away pointedly.

"You fancied _me_ ?" Harry asks incredulously, turning to face Malfoy. Of course, with his _wonderful_ seven-near-death-experiences type of luck, it only makes sense that Malfoy would have liked him seven years ago. 

"You have to admit we would have made quite the dashing couple, you with your reputation and me with my dazzling physique," Draco waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Harry has to laugh.

"The only thing about you that dazzles is your ability to annoy the shite out of everybody." 

"Shut up, Potter, I'm older than you. Respect your elders." 

"Oh Merlin, you're right," Harry moans, and he gets the distinct impression that Malfoy’ll never let him hear the end of this.

“I’m taller too,” Malfoy adopts an air of superiority.

* * *

When Harry sees Malfoy in the line again the next morning, he starts bagging the usual pastry, holding it out with a small smile.

"I'd like fourteen more, please."

Harry stops. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Fourteen more strudels," Malfoy waves a hand airily, and Harry's smile dies on his lips. There aren't even fourteen more in the case.

"Just...why?"

"If I hoard them I don't have to come here every day," Malfoy says, and something in Harry wilts - he's actually begun to enjoy seeing Malfoy daily.

"Alright, I'll get you your stupid strudels," Harry huffs. He has no choice but to duplicate the pastries - Ron does the baking, after all - but Harry supposes that's a good thing, since he's now tempted to poison Malfoy's breakfast.

He packs the strudels in a box and takes Malfoy's money.

"Be on your way now."

* * *

Harry doesn’t know when exactly the six of them had become some sort of impromptu friend group, but there’s something comfortable about the whole thing. It’s getting late - he and Ron had shut down the cafe nearly two hours ago - but Pansy’s sprawled lazily across the sofa, Ginny perched on the upholstered arm, and Hermione’s curled up in the overlarge winged armchair with a book. No one looks like they’re going anywhere anytime soon. The fireplace reminds Harry of the Gryffindor common room, and he’s hit over the head by a swamping wave of nostalgia.

Ron returns, passing around the cocoa.

“Ginny Weasley,” Pansy looks up threateningly, “If you spill that on me I swear to Merlin I’ll curse off your fingers and feed them to my Kneazle.” 

“Shouldn’t we be working on that Ministry project?” Ginny looks reluctantly at the clock hung over the mantlepiece, lacing her still-intact fingers around the mug of hot chocolate.

“Hermione’s reading, so we probably won’t get around to actually doing anything anyway,” Pansy crosses her boot-clad legs. Hermione hums affirmatively without looking up; she flips a page and takes a long draft of cocoa. 

Ron passes Harry a cup and he smiles gratefully. It’s mid-October, the weather growing steadily more frigid, and Harry’ll take whatever he can get. He’s somewhat successfully Conjured a rather misshapen blanket - his wandless isn’t exactly reliable, per se - and even though it’s a bright, daffodil yellow, he can’t help but feel thankful for small comforts. He briefly ponders the merits of a warming charm, then decides he’d rather not risk the same fate as the quilt. All in all, it’s hard not to feel content when sitting in front of a merrily crackling fireplace, wrapped snugly in a warm blanket, mug of cocoa in hand. Especially when beside Draco Malfoy. 

Harry lifts the mug to take a tentative sip of cocoa.

His warm and happy thoughts vanish rather quickly when Malfoy steals the quilt, yanking it off Harry with a triumphant smirk. 

"It's mine now, Potter." Even though the blanket obscures more than half of Malfoy's face, his eyes somehow convey an infuriating amount of smugness, and Harry’s caught between the urge to fling a hex and the pressing desire to just kiss the irritating bastard. He settles for grabbing the blanket back, because pressing desire or not, he’s still _cold-_

“Oh please,” Ginny says, Levitating Harry’s cocoa away from the tussle. She flicks her wand at the blanket and it enlarges, now wide enough for at least four people. 

Harry tugs the left corner towards himself, throwing Malfoy a reproachful look. 

Behind him, something emits a strange hissing noise, followed closely by muffled yells - Ginny has successfully spilled her cocoa, and Pansy’s making a decidedly impressive effort at pillow-based homicide. The blanket’s much larger now, so truth be told there isn’t much of a reason to be sitting so close to Malfoy, but Harry’s eyelids feel heavy and since they’ve been here for two hours, what’s a few more? Malfoy shifts but doesn’t move away, and Harry isn’t sure what to think. They’re closer than he previously suspected, but everything’s so soft and comfortable; Malfoy’s become less pointy since first year, a warm and solid weight beside him. 

Harry finds himself drowsy, and the only remaining sane part of him realizes he’s leaning against Malfoy. 

He turns his head blearily, making sure that he isn’t about to be violently displaced. His insides flip in a way that they really shouldn’t, but Malfoy’s cheeks are pink from either the fireplace or the cocoa and Harry decides that he likes this, rather a lot in fact. Whichever problems may arise, they’ll be future Harry’s to deal with anyway, so he lets his head rest on Malfoy’s shoulder, nestled in the crook of his neck. Perhaps in the end, Harry isn't really bothered by the height difference.

* * *

Harry knows he shouldn't sulk, but it's hard not to.

"Mate, is everything alright?" Ron comes over, concerned, and Harry just wants to sleep.

"I'm fine."

Malfoy isn't going to visit anymore, so he might as well get used to the way things are going to be. Harry thinks unhappily that he's finally found a flaw with shoving all his problems in a deep dark pit somewhere. It was all going fine until he fell in the pit too.

He debates rattling the coffee machine again to get Malfoy's attention, but he doesn't want to force his company on someone who doesn't want him, and Harry has to conclude that Malfoy just doesn't think of him as anything more than a friend. Ron disappears into the back room to bake more pastries before the evening customers come after work.

It's hours past noon, and Harry's resolved to drown himself in hot chocolate. He's already eaten all the marshmallows.

He pulls out one of the romance books he liberated yesterday and flips to the page where he last left off. His eyes scan the page but he finds himself reading the same paragraph over and over without processing anything, and he drops the book on the counter with a sigh. The one time Malfoy isn't up to something-

"Hullo."

Harry looks up. "What happened to the fifteen pastries?" He can't seem to stop smiling, he really shouldn't put this much stock into seeing Malfoy's face, but he can't help it when Malfoy's looking at him like that.

"I ran into some technical difficulties. It's just that, well," Malfoy hesitates, running a hand through his hair, "I missed being here, and it turns out that eating fifteen strudels in one day isn't logistically possible." He puts a box on the table, and Harry realizes it's the same box he gave Malfoy yesterday.

"Need any help?" Harry opens the box to see ten strudels and a half. He picks up the half and laughs.

"Malfoys do not need _help_ ," he says, crossing his arms, "I'm simply giving you permission to eat the rest of the pastries while in my company. Besides, I made it through a very respectable four and a half before I risked getting sick of them. I was actually on my way to see Pansy, want to come with?"

"Sure," Harry says, and he knows he's grinning like an idiot but he can't seem to care. He feels a momentary flash of guilt for leaving Ron to deal with the evening rush alone, but he scrawls a quick apology on a nearby post-it and sticks it to the wall by the door to the back room. Ron's only baking, it's not like Harry'd be much help there anyway.

"Thank you, O Savior of the Wizarding World, Chosen One, Golden-"

"Shut up," Harry laughs, giving Malfoy a gentle shove, and they leave the coffee shop together, both looking in opposite directions and failing to stifle smiles.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Wand?"

Harry reluctantly drops his wand in the machine. After a significant amount of whirring and rather alarming crunching - Merlin, what are they doing to his wand? - a slip of paper slides off the top, reading _Harry Potter._ The wizard pulls his wand out of the back of the machine, pulling the paper out of the slot and attaching it to an overwhelmingly large ledger. Malfoy had cast a notice-me-not on himself to stave off unwanted visitors, and now Harry really wishes he had had the good sense to do the same. His wand seems to be held hostage for the moment, so Harry waits uncomfortably for the wizard to notice him and make the usual exclamation.

It takes a few minutes.

_"HARRY POTTER!"_

Harry nearly shoots out of his own skin - his heartbeat is so loud it almost drowns out the sounds of Malfoy fake-retching in the background.

"Hi," he says, waving weakly at the now bug-eyed security wizard. 

"It's _such_ an honor, sir, quite an _honor_ -" Malfoy's smug expression melts into laughter, and he rests an arm against the wall for support - the melodramatic git - his expression halfway between disgust at Harry's fame and hilarity at the polite horror on Harry's face. When they had stepped out of the coffee shop and started walking to the Ministry, the concentration of wizards had slowly increased the closer they got to their destination, which - to Harry at least - just meant more chance of being accosted by reporters or seniors brandishing _W_ _itch Weekly_ and asking him about breakfast cereals. Malfoy had managed to make disparaging remarks about Harry's personality, looks, intelligence, and general choice in sock-color the whole time, which served to simultaneously brighten Harry's mood (he's worried this is the start of masochistic tendencies) and keep spectators away.

Except now it seems that Malfoy has lost his mind. At this point he isn't even making an effort to be a sarcastic arsehole, and Harry feels rather insulted. Is he not arch-nemesis material anymore?

“Mr. Malfoy,” the wizard says slowly, the name sour in his mouth, squinting at him over the still-clacking wand machine, and Harry feels a sudden surge of annoyance. He rests a hand on the small of Malfoy’s back, giving the wizard a pointed look. “We’re together.” He can practically hear Malfoy’s eyebrow rising. Harry hopes fervently that Malfoy doesn’t see fit to relieve him of his eyelashes. 

The security wizard looks somewhat chastened. He returns both wands, making a note in an alarmingly large ledger.

"Please, Mr. Potter, sir, it would mean a lot to me if you could just look at this picture, you see, I have a daughter-" Harry's just glad the wizard's still on his side of the desk. Some things he'll never recover from.

"-she's a wonderful girl, currently unattached-" Malfoy's wearing a strange expression that Harry can't read, but at least he isn't having a laughing fit anymore.

"I'm sorry, he's already taken," Malfoy reiterates politely, wrapping an arm possessively around Harry's waist and reeling him in. Harry now thinks he needs the support of a wall himself because he's suddenly rather unsteady. He looks at Malfoy, trying to convey all of his emotions in one expression, and even though it must look like he's having some sort of facial spasm, he hopes the other man gets the message. Malfoy just shrugs unconcernedly. 

The wizard looks like what Harry feels. "Harry, does Malfoy speak the truth?" Harry doesn't know when they've graduated to first-name basis, but he has to either confirm or deny Malfoy's statement. He can't yell an emphatic and slightly-crazed _no_ because it would damage Malfoy's already tenuous reputation, and would probably earn the ex-death-eater a trip to Saint Mungo's.

And solely because he doesn't want Malfoy removing his hand from its place on Harry's hip, he finds himself saying, "Yes, we're together, sir."

All three of them look equally surprised to learn about this newfound relationship.

"So you-you and _him-_ " Harry's getting rather concerned about the wizard's eyes; they seem to be making a synchronized effort to escape their sockets.

"I’m sorry, your daughter’s a lovely witch," Harry starts to say, still trying to process the fact that he's now technically Draco Malfoy's boyfriend. He tries to keep his breathing even - Malfoy’s arm is still slung around his waist - and Harry can’t decide whether it would be worse if the arm stayed or left.

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," the security man mutters to himself, already summoning a piece of paper and quill.

"I’d rather you didn’t," Malfoy says, more graciously than Harry’s ever heard him speak, reaching out as if to take the quill. This is when Harry realises they haven't quite thought this through.

"But you-!" the security wizard sends a memo shooting off, and Harry tries to catch it in midair but apparently his skills in the flying-letter-catching department haven't improved since he was eleven. Malfoy gives him a strange look, and Harry realises he must look more than a little unhinged. Marvellous. He can think of a few more choice words to describe the situation, but currently he’s pressed shoulder-to-shoulder to Malfoy, which doesn’t leave much room for his particular brand of insanity. 

Harry waves what he hopes is a cheerful and friendly goodbye and Malfoy begins to manually wheel Harry out of the room. They can always wait for Pansy outside.

Oh Merlin.

Pansy’s going to be horrible.

* * *

Harry reevaluates his life choices.

He hopes that all of his body parts are under the two-foot awning - the rain's pouring, water flowing over the sidewalks to the gutters - but this is the least of his problems, considering how he's sitting on a ledge three stories up.

All in all, Harry isn't really bothered by the heavy rain, the cold, or even the threat of death-by-pavement-splat. It's surprising how all of ones problems come into perspective when trapped in a tiny alcove with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy lets out another low groan and Harry fights the urge to hurl himself off the edge.

"Potter, how did you ever consider this a good idea?"

"It's not my fault you don't have your wand on you right now!"

"Says the one who left his in the coffee shop."

"I thought we could just take the fire escape, how was I supposed to predict the rain? Besides, I was the one who found the awning." They both turn to look at the skeletal fire escape, rain trickling down the open ladders.

Malfoy sighs. "Sure, but you're the reason Hermione’s classification documents are in my bag, so by extension, you're the reason we have to wait for the rain to stop. I'm not risking getting these wet."

"Fine, Harry says miserably, "Have your stupid victory. I'm still freezing my balls off either way."

"You have that overlarge fleece monstrosity!" Malfoy shivers, tugging his coat tightly around him, and he looks so small and cold that Harry can't help himself. He starts pulling off one arm of his jacket.

Malfoy stops him. "Oh please, I can take care of myself." He tries to shove Harry's arm back into the jacket with no avail, and Harry has to laugh when Malfoy fails to find the armhole.

"Shut up, Potter, I know what I'm doing." Malfoy struggles with the jacket, his expression fierce, and something in Harry goes impossibly soft. He wraps the other end of the jacket around Malfoy's shoulders.

"There, now we can share. Happy?"

Malfoy successfully threads his arm through the opposite armhole, but then Harry's met with the uncomfortable reality that his jacket isn't as large as he had previously thought. He tries to cross his legs but the jacket restricts his movements, and Harry wobbles, desperately leaning away from the open air. He grabs on to the nearest object to steady himself.

After his heart rate has finally gone down, he realizes that now he has one arm wrapped around Malfoy's waist, pulling him close. He's mortified but Malfoy feels warm against him, a solid presence and a steady weight, and Harry has to stop himself before he does something stupid. He turns to apologize but _oh_ , Malfoy's gone a pale pink, and Harry wants nothing more than to kiss the red splotches high on his cheeks.

"I always knew you had a 'saving people' thing," Malfoy says, looking away, his voice odd, "I was right, as usual."

"Don't cross me," Harry glances significantly at the street below, "I won't save you if I'm the one who pushes you off."

"Nice try, but if we fall, we fall together." Malfoy wriggles the other arm of the jacket, lifting his chin haughtily. Harry sticks out his tongue but Malfoy yelps, clinging to him tightly, and suddenly Harry's nose is just inches away from Malfoy's neck. Maybe if he-

"Potter, Potter it's going to get me," Malfoy yelps, staring at something next to him, his face full of abject terror, but Harry's still too busy wondering of all sorts of things he definitely shouldn't be wondering about.

"The fucking pigeon's going to eat me!"

Harry can't stop himself from laughing.

The bird's perched at the very corner of the ledge, it's head tilted curiously to one side, and it slowly ambles it's way towards Draco - who promptly starts shrieking and scooting even farther away. Any farther back and Harry'll be pressed against the wall, but watching Draco Malfoy face off against a pigeon is one of the things he'll surely remember for the rest of his life.

He feels a sudden flash of guilt, waving an arm and sending the pigeon off on it's way.

"Do you care to explain?" Harry watches the bird fly through the rain, landing on the building across the street.

"Oh, please, like you've ever looked into a pigeon's beady little eyes and seen anything but intent to kill. That and the claws." Malfoy shudders.

"But they're so tiny!"

"Just like Ginny Weasley and her hexes. Merlin knows that at this point seeing her triggers a fight-or-flight response."

Harry laughs, remembering the various occasions Ginny had demonstrated her Bat-Bogey Hex. "Fair enough," he says. He gives Malfoy a long look. "I'm sorry for laughing."

"Nice try, Potter."

"No, really, I am-"

“Stop being so goddamn _Gryffindor_ , will you?”

“I’m trying to be nice, Malfoy, but you’re making it kind of challenging.”

Malfoy presses a kiss to his cheek, his lips soft against Harry's skin, and Harry thinks he's forgotten how to breathe. Malfoy pulls away, giving him a fond look.

Dozens of questions swirl in Harry's head, now overlaid by slight panic and an embarrassing amount of want, and his brain catches up- _Malfoy kissed him! Draco Malfoy just-_

Harry opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, then closes it again, watching mutely as Malfoy snaps his fingers, a transparent bubble surrounding him, and swings himself onto the fire escape.

"Wait!" Harry yells, leaning out from the ledge and getting a faceful of water flowing off the awning, "You can't just-"

Malfoy takes the steps two at a time, his stupid bubble shielding him from the rain, and he reaches the bottom, running across the sidewalk farther down the street, his suitcase clutched tightly to his chest.

"You can't just do that and leave-" So was Malfoy trying to tell him something? But no, Harry thinks he had been relatively discreet about the whole matter. Then again people don't usually run away afterwards-

"Malfoy, you arsehole, get back here right now!" Harry flails his arms desperately.

Malfoy splashes down the sidewalk, pausing momentarily to throw Harry a smirk over his shoulder. The absolute _git_ . How _dare_ he - how dare he make a mess of Harry's already messy life and - well, exist so annoyingly-

The blonde disappears around the street corner, leaving Harry soggy, blushing, and stranded three stories up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> I'll probably update every week!


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